


A Different Look

by Woofemus



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: Ophilia tries on the dancer's outfit, and learns.





	A Different Look

**Author's Note:**

> ophilia is thirsty and so am I

“How are they?”

Ophilia squeaks embarrassingly loud as she whirls around, trying to cover herself with her hands. They do naught, of course, not when so much of her skin is already so bare. Primrose is amused, and the way she looks Ophilia up and down before sauntering over makes Ophilia feel even more mortified.

“It is…” Primrose pauses to look her up and down again before meeting Ophilia’s gaze, a twinkle in her own eyes. “You look far fetching than even me, I dare say.”

Ophilia thinks her blush is extending downward past her neck—oh, it’s bare there too! How did dancers walk without shame in these garments? Primrose is surely teasing her, for Ophilia thinks that no one could be far lovelier than Primrose herself.

“Th-thank—I mean, I think I do not…” Ophilia cannot decide whether she wishes to accept the compliment or rebut, her embarrassment in such a revealing outfit overriding any sort of functionality of her mind.

Primrose laughs and walks behind her. Ophilia tries to follow her but fingers start to thread through her hair—ah, she’s fixing the shroud. Ophilia had meant to do that earlier had Primrose not walked in. Primrose’s hands are gentle, careful to not muss with Ophilia’s hair.

“There,” Primrose says, and takes a step back. Ophilia shyly turns toward her, feeling even more self-conscious than she normally does. It’s because of this outfit, she tells herself. Tressa’s always wandering eye for deals had caught it at the market in Saintstown, and along with gaining Sealticge’s blessing not long earlier. It’d been too tight for one of H’aanit’s muscular build, and too long for someone as tiny as Tressa.

So, it’s been left to Ophilia. Yes, that is the only reason.

Primrose looks at her once more but her gaze is more scrutinizing than before. “Yes, good,” she says with an approving nod. Ophilia lets out a breath, unaware she’d been holding it while waiting for Primrose’s judgment.

Ophilia looks over Primrose, realizing her clothes are different as well. The outfit adorning the other woman are black in color with gold accents, _much_ different than her usual hues of red and pink, along with an added cape. That… must be Cyrus’ influence, his tastes were always a bit… eccentric, Ophilia thinks. Save for the cape, though, her outfit is still no less revealing than what she normally wears, she realizes with a blush, quickly bringing her eyes back up lest they follow the inevitable path down Primrose’s bare legs.

… still, she cannot help but wonder about the cape.

Primrose, realizing Ophilia’s been looking her, twirls around with a small grin on her face. The cape swishes around her. It makes her usual movements look… dramatic, almost comically so. Ophilia nearly laughs, watching as Primrose continues to exaggerate her movements to make her cape whirl around her.

“I hadn’t been sure about this, but I think it’s growing on me,” Primrose says. It doesn’t seem to hamper her movements at all. It’s a little odd for a dancer like Primrose to wear, but it’s a nice touch, Ophilia thinks.

“It adds a bit of flair,” Ophilia says, tempted to reach out wave the cape around to show her point.

“Flair is one way of putting it.” Primrose shakes her head, laughing softly before she looks at Ophilia. “Now, are you ready for your lesson?”

“L-lesson?” Ophilia had only thought about trying on the clothes, but lesson? Actually learning to dance?

W-well, she _was_ going to learn, but she hadn’t thought it would happen right _now._

“You sound so surprised.” The corners of Primrose’s twitch into an almost imperceptible smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow, of course.”

The way she says those words sends a shiver through Ophilia, for some reason. Primrose’s always had that sort of effect on her. Ophilia would rather not think about that, not right now, _especially_ not right now when Primrose is so close to her right now, not when Ophilia’s wearing what must be the most embarrassing outfit she thinks she’s ever worn.

“I tend to, ah, um, get stage fright,” Ophilia mumbles.

“We’ll work on that too,” Primrose says with a laugh. “For now, I am your only audience. Does that help?”

 _Not particularly,_ Ophilia wants to say, but she nods instead. Primrose seems satisfied, and instead moves to stand behind her. For what reason, Ophilia isn’t sure why—

Her eyes widen as she sucks in a breath. Primrose’s gone and placed her hands on her hips, fingers resting just above her clothes. Then, her fingers trail upward, ghosting along her sides.

A quiet gasp comes out of Ophilia, nearly fidgeting. Her whole body tenses. Primrose immediately stops her movements. She’s waiting for Ophilia to relax again, Ophilia realizes, and slowly forces herself to calm down. Primrose starts the movement of her fingers again.

Her fingers are slightly cold, a jarring shock to Ophilia. Her own skin is heated, it must be all the embarrassment she’d felt earlier—or, rather, still feels now.

Is this supposed to help with anything? Ophilia isn’t sure, and she’d like to ask, except one of Primrose’s hands move to her front where she splays a hand against the flat of her stomach. Ophilia immediately loses the path of her thoughts. It doesn’t help at all when she can hear Primrose chuckling behind her.

Primrose starts to trail her hands upward. Ophilia nearly jumps—Primrose’s touch is electrifying, almost as if she’s channeling magic. In fact, Ophilia is sure she is. Ophilia herself has always had a high resilience against the elementals, and she can easily brush off most usages. Primrose knows this, so...

Ophilia shudders, and not out of fear.

Although, learning to wield the arcane magics in this manner is most likely _not_ where Cyrus thought his lessons would go.

“Your posture,” Primrose suddenly says. “You’re so stiff.” Her hand abruptly goes to Ophilia’s back, pushing against it slightly. Then—

Ophilia nearly shrieks at the burst of coldness on her back. She stumbles away, staring at Primrose in shock. She catches the last wisps of ice on Primrose’s fingers, and a small laugh on her lips.

“Just to make sure I still have your attention,” Primrose says.

 _You always have it_ , Ophilia nearly blurts out. “Really, now,” she says instead, shaking her head and trying to seem exasperated. It doesn’t really work though, especially when Primrose arches a brow that says otherwise.

But the distraction works. Ophilia is smiling, laughing softly as her shoulders shake. She’d been so tense, so embarrassed.

Not that Primrose herself hadn’t been to blame for all of that, anyway.

But, still, it is hard for Ophilia to keep calm in an outfit so different from her own! This outfit isn’t like any she’s ever worn before. She’s never shown so much _skin_. And the bangles along her arms feel so strange, she’s never had accessories of this sort as well.

It makes her wonder how Primrose can do it, how she can wear her clothes and stroll through town so confidently heedless of all the eyes on her. Oh, all the attention she attracts! All the attention she attracts that she _knows_ she does! And, yet, she chooses not to flaunt any of it if she needs not to, only determined to achieve her own goals.

That sort of quiet strength and confidence Primrose has… it makes her even more amazing, and envious, Ophilia thinks.

“Just wondering, Ophilia, have you ever danced before?” Primrose asks then.

“Dancing, like, ah…”

“Any sort of dance, even anything as small as swaying to the rhythm of a beat when you thought no one was watching you.”

Ophilia tries to remember. Lianna had always been the more adventurous one between the two of them. It had been Lianna who had taken her to the tavern once upon hearing rumors that a wandering bard had come into town. The music had been merry and festive, a much needed cheer that the people of Flamesgrace needed in their drab world of snow and blizzards.

But had she danced? She remembered Lianna trying to tug her hand out to where the rest of the patrons were, but Ophilia had always been shy, and to imagine _her_ dancing?

“I… cannot say I have,” Ophilia finally replies. Her answer embarrasses her for some reason, like she’s admitted some secret she hadn’t meant to reveal.

“Perhaps, it might be better if I’ll show you what it might feel like,” Primrose only says in return. Ophilia expects her to begin a dance of her own, but instead, she comes back to Ophilia, standing behind her once more. She puts her hands on Ophilia but they’re firm this time, with the purpose of teaching. She’s serious this time, Ophilia learns.

Not that Ophilia finds herself any less distracted by her touches.

“Dancing like this… people may think it too vulgar and crude, but to some, it is an artform,” Primrose murmurs. One hand goes to Ophilia’s stomach again while the other seemingly glides under one of her arms, lifting it up. Ophilia swallows, and only nods, unable to form words, not that she can give a voice to them. “You must be graceful, fluid, _natural_ , you cannot force it.

“Let me be the one to guide you,” Primrose whispers, right into her ear, and starts to move them both.

Primrose is humming a tune, unrecognizable to Ophilia. It is fast, upbeat, almost rhythmic like the pounding of drums. Perhaps a song with this beat is common to the Sunlands because Ophilia has never heard anything like this. Primrose moves them around, and it’s all Ophilia can do to make sure she doesn’t trip over her own feet.

The humming stops briefly, all for Primrose to murmur, into her ear again, “Relax.”

Ophilia takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes. Relax… it is the last thing she could do in this situation, being held by Primrose, wearing clothes like these, her awkward feet trying to step to a beat in a way she’s not known to...

But, if Primrose is willing to try, willing to show her, then…

Ophilia relaxes. Primrose makes a sound, something that sounds pleased, and begins her humming once more. Her arms are compliant when Primrose waves them around. Primrose nudges one of her legs, sliding it out before she spins them around, even lifting Ophilia off the floor a bit. _That_ nearly makes Ophilia lose her breath, but in a good way, then Primrose is moving them again.

They continue for a long time. So long, that when Primrose finally stops, Ophilia is struggling to catch her breath. She’s caught off guard by how… exerted she feels. Her legs are shaking and she’s sure that if Primrose hadn’t been holding her, she’d have fallen down to her knees. And Primrose! Ophilia can hear, how her breathing is quickened, but she’s nowhere near as exhausted as Ophilia. A dancer’s stamina must be far greater than Ophilia realizes. And the muscles she felt pressed against Primrose as the other woman near effortlessly lifted her and guided her around—

“How do you feel?” Primrose asks.

“I…” In between her breaths, Ophilia is trying think of a word, a phrase, or… anything, really. Primrose is—ah, no, it all felt...

“Incredible,” she finally settles on. Primrose smiles, seemingly proud.

“How about you try it yourself, then?” Primrose doesn’t even wait for Ophilia to answer, already clapping out a beat for her. “Learning by doing is the best way for dancing!”

“Huh?!” Ophilia’s feet are already acting out before her mind can catch up to what she’s being asked. When it finally does catch up, Ophilia tries to reason through what she’s doing, except her feet are moving too fast—she ends up stumbling, falling forward. She shuts her eyes and braces herself.

Except arms catch her, and push her upright. Ophilia opens her eyes. Primrose’s caught her, and she’s trying to hold back her laughter.

“You tried to think too hard about what you were doing, weren’t you?” Primrose says. Ophilia doesn’t need to say anything, her blush is what gives her away.

“Sometimes, all you need to just let the music go through you. The easiest thing is to lose yourself to the rhythm, act out what your body wants to do, don’t listen to that part of your mind that tells you to stop…” Primrose steps away once more, and starts to clap her hands to the same beat again, but now she’s humming. It’s a different melody than the one she was humming earlier.

Ophiila can’t help but wonder how many songs Primrose knows, how many she’s danced to.

“Ophilia?” Primrose asks.

“Ah! Um, yes, right,” Ophilia takes a deep breath, and begins.

She feels so… _awkward_ , nothing like earlier. Even when Primrose had been in control of both dance and control, Ophilia had felt graceful, free, _open_. Here, she’s so unsure, doesn’t know what she’s doing. Primrose tells her to lose herself, but Ophilia does not know _how_.

“You’re still too stiff! Use your hips as well, sway them—” and Ophilia does so—Primrose makes a sound and quickly covers her mouth. Ophilia turns bright red once more, her feet stopping as she sighs.

“I know I asked to learn, but to actually perform, it’s…” Ophilia covers her face. “It is embarrassing!” Primrose laughs again, and Ophilia feels her flush deepening.

So it catches Ophilia off guard, then, when Primrose says, “I know,” in a voice so quiet that Ophilia thinks she might have imagined it. But when she looks at Primrose, the expression on her face is wistful, her gaze faraway, like she’s lost in a memory.

It is here that Ophilia remembers Primrose had become a dancer as a choice for her revenge, not because she _wanted_ to, but because she _needed_ to. It is almost all too easy to forget that, given the way Primrose always aims to captivate and stun the audience with each of her performances. Yet, for all her need for revenge, even Ophilia can see that dancing brings pride to Primrose.

Still, Ophilia hopes, even if a little, she can help ease some of the pain inside.

Primrose closes her eyes, almost like she’s squeezing them shut. Before Ophilia can ask if she’s fine, Primrose slowly opens them. The wistfulness is gone from her eyes, and she’s looking upon Ophilia with eyes that seem sharper than before. At times, her eyes seem much keener than Cyrus’ own scrutinizing gaze, Ophilia feels.

“As I thought, this manner of dance really does not suit you,” Primrose murmurs. Ophilia’s face falls. Well, it most likely _is_ true, but to hear it spoken so bluntly, discourages her.

“I… had only wished to be able to inspire our allies the same way you do. Everyone else is learning new skills from the others, I cannot let myself fall behind!”

“You’re already a great boon to us, with your healing magic.” A wry smile graces Primrose’s lips. “Or are you the type of person who likes to overwork herself too? If you were to collapse out of fatigue, that wouldn’t be good as well, would it?”

“I know, but… I just wish there was _more_ I could do! Our journeys are still fraught with danger.” Ophilia only shakes her head, wishing she could also shake off the slight frustration she feels. “I only wish to be able to do more,” she repeats with a sigh.

“You truly are too kind sometimes, Ophilia,” Primrose says. “How about we take a short break, and I will…” and here, she holds out her hand, a small burst of purple shadows forming within her palm, “teach you these arts instead?”

An unpleasant shiver goes through Ophilia at the sight of the dark magic. She wants to ask where Primrose has learned that, but keeps her mouth shut. Perhaps, that might be better, though.

And... she’s intrigued. So she nods, and Primrose smiles. “Then, let’s take a break.”

Ophilia goes to sit down in a chair, still trying to catch her breath. It feels so warm now, her body still hot with sweat and the fatigue. If this is how it feels to have one dance, how does Primrose dance so much in succession? It makes her wonder. She wants to know.

“Primrose? May I ask you—” and Ophilia pauses, realizing Primrose is staring intently at her. A blush rises to her cheeks. Being stared at so… closely, especially by a beautiful woman like Primrose, always makes her shy. “A-ah? Um, Primrose? Is everything fine?”

But, Primrose doesn’t seem to hear her, lost in whatever musings she has as her hands wave around. She steps around, and Ophilia doesn’t understand any bit of it, especially not when Primrose looks down at herself, and smiles almost ruefully.

“It’s been too long, hm,” she whispers, almost forgetting that Ophilia is there, if it wasn’t for her raising her head to look straight at her in the next moment.

“My skills and memory are dulled, so I may not remember everything slightly, and I’ve not had to be the one to take the lead, but…”

Primrose walks over, standing in front of Ophilia. She moves one hand behind her back and holds out the other toward her—oh! Ophilia’s blushing again when she realizes what Primrose is doing, hardly daring to believe the sight in front of her is real. Ophilia is gaping, she knows it is impolite to do so, but she cannot help it.

“I… I’m sorry?” Ophilia finds herself saying instead, still incredulous at the sudden turn of events.

“There are other types of dances too,” Primrose only answers simply, and urges her once more with her hand. “Will you allow me the honor of a dance?” The expression on Primrose’s face is solemn, but her lips are twitching, no doubt trying to fight back a smile. "I realize we are not in the proper place but we’ll have to make do."

… the cape _was_ a good idea, Ophilia thinks.

“Dancing in the ballroom of a noble house befits you better, my fair lady,” Primrose adds, even throwing in a wink that makes Ophilia giggle. Primrose’s dancing is smooth, but her tongue might be even smoother. No, her heart had already decided.

So Ophilia takes her hand, and lets herself Primrose take the lead once more.


End file.
